a messy business
by Mana Angel
Summary: Saix's approach to sample collection is comparable to using a sledgehammer to catch butterflies. Resident Evil semi crossover. Rated for very slight gore.


Title: a messy business  
Day/Theme: Jan 3, 2008//a mountain of violent sins (for 31days on LJ)  
Series: Kingdom Hearts (/Resident Evil, sort of.)  
Character/Pairing: Vexen, Saix  
Rating: PG-13 for mention of gore.  
Length: 800 words  
Summary: _Saix's approach to sample collection is comparable to using a sledgehammer to catch butterflies._

The scientist wrinkles his nose. Here, the stench of putrefying meat is inescapable; he thinks longingly of his laboratory with its neatly-lined boxes of disposable gloves and surgical masks, every tool he could possibly _need_ in its own labeled drawer with fourteen others identical to it. It's isolated, it's organized, and above all, it's _pristine_.

His current environment is anything but.

Vexen consoles himself with the thought that at least he isn't picking through his mess with his bare hands. The latex gloves he's donned are stained with streaks of what he hopes is just some inconveniently pus-colored fluid; his fingers shed flakes of rusty, caked blood every time he flexes them. He bends down beside a body, turning its head towards him, and shakes his head dourly at the nearly-black eyeball protruding out of its socket like a malignant tumor.

"I don't suppose you'd care to stop doing that, would you? We do need to have enough samples to analyze." Though Vexen appears to be holding a conversation with a decapitated head, his words are directed to the berserker coolly cleaning off his claymore off to the side.

The berserker who incidentally happens to be directly responsible for the body parts littering the room.

"I believe there is more than enough material here for you to collect," Saix answers quietly, showing (yet again, Vexen mentally groans) his distinct lack of appreciation for the finer points of scientific inquiry. Vexen has no idea what kind of backwater world Xigbar dug the neophyte out of, but he wouldn't be surprised if it was a place where people happily ate with their feet and thought stinking animal skins were the height of fashionable apparel.

IV notices, though, that the Luna Diviner hasn't gotten so much as a scratch or a _smudge_ of dirt on him. It's more impressive knowing that this is the fourth such group they've had to deal with in the last five hours alone.

Well, they _had_ been advised that direct physical contact was a bad idea. Nobodies or not, their bodies could still be susceptible for the virus mentioned again and again in the files they've managed to peel out of the tightly-locked cabinets, filching the keys from ravaged corpses in rust-stained lab coats.

"While I'm so _grateful_ that you pre-slice them for me, it would help," the scientist sighs, "If you could at least secure _one_ of them while they're... _functional_ long enough for me to determine whether or not they possess a heart." It's an interesting question; obviously, infected humans lose all semblance of a personality and are reduced to base instincts, like many of the lesser Heartless. On the other hand, they are undoubtedly clinically dead; whatever prompts them to parody life now isn't anything related to soul _or_ heart.

Saix's response, though Vexen wasn't really expecting one, is predictably bland. And long. Xemnas' habits are _rubbing off_ on the neophytes, he's noticed, which is an amazingly cringeworthy prospect. "As I recall, you requested me to join you in order that you could collect what you needed unmolested. I am merely doing as you asked. I do not believe you would be pleased to be assaulted in the middle of your tasks."

"Yes, well. I wasn't counting on you dancing around like some demented butcher, either."

The berserker pretends not to hear.

"Whoever came up with the name 'Umbrella Corporation' must have laughed themselves ill about it for days," Vexen mutters darkly, squatting down to pick up a small chunk of what might have been an arm or something's rump and flick it into a small jar. "What an idiotic play on words." The modified bandolier around his waist has a number of such jars clipped into them, most filled with scraps (those odd-colored herbs for Lexaeus, a sample of ocular and brain tissue for Zexion, and so on) from elsewhere in the mansion.

Xemnas' demand, however, is proving particularly difficult to satisfy. It would be best, Vexen muses, if they could find a survivor and then inject them with the virus, extracting the heart halfway through. _Then_ perhaps they'd have something to satisfy the man, assuming he hasn't been distracted by another project entirely in the meantime.

Further musings are interrupted by a sudden _clang_ coming from further down an adjacent corridor. Vexen stills-- the sound of heavy, dragging footsteps and _wet_ growls is fairly audible even to him.

Saix was probably aware of it before he was, which explains why he hasn't bothered to put his weapon away.

"Should I attempt to secure _this_ one, _sir_?" Coming from anyone else, Vexen would have called that irony; from Saix, it's a straightforward question-- though Vexen can already see his fingers flexing, preparing to switch his claymore to his other hand.

"That won't be necessary." The scientist's mouth twists up into a crooked smirk.

"I've never liked dogs anyway."

[note: my knowledge of the Resident Evil series is purely limited to a) Leon Kennedy being white as the driven snow, b) there are zombies and other freaky creatures of not so much the night as the horribly ventilated underground laboratory (that'll teach 'em to skimp on exhaust), c) vague recollections of the first movie, d) even vaguer recollections of my friends running around laboratories screaming at scientists who were the wrong kind of dead.

So. Yes.


End file.
